Thursday, January 22, 2009



With a camera in my toilet,
Those opinions of yours should rapidly change.
If I were president, I would have fun because 
I could run so fast.
Buffalo burgers make everyone fly to the White House
As if they're abortions.
Let's let the dope do our thinking.
I like you because I saw you on TV.
I hope I am your wiped feet.
Like you, I am small, quiet, and hilarious.
Put hand-sanitizer on your hands and enjoy
The freedom of me getting up and crawling
Into your cavity.
Abortions who live on the street go to
The dog pound.
Self-knowledge is the mess left over.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

13 Poems

We are born flukes to become
A sanctity due, a sentiment of grace,
The persona less aware and energy.
Alive in such a dark world.
We suppose to sturdy it.
A world of such glory, the
Glorious world in one wandering.
That is all said lightly.
This must be my end alive.
A boring couple of days.
An active life is boring.
My infant daughter decapitated by an air-bag
While simultaneously
A young boy mauls a mountain lion.
What will someday come rather than what now was.
I shoot the father.
I have done this before.
I am seen through the window,
I am living in his house again.
This must be a judgement.
I don't know what I'm talking about.
I can't sell the difference between
My clothes, the megabyte, the tabloids, and my spite.
I'm out to smoke a cigarette,
Because if this internal absence continues
It might be necessary to master your language,
And I shouldn't swear by that.
I am seen through windows.
I am done judging you.
Let the night grin.
And I am sober and then the road.
Ahead a stable of dogs and old yelling yellows.
Comic books of crossbone spawn unfold around me.
The fathers are dead.
It's boring here.
I step in all the houses I've visited before.
I avoid all the women I've slipped inside before.
I heard the others behind me.
Along the way comes something after.
Rough neck red neck cute suck neck suck
Face dick cute suck dick fuck red dick rough fuck,
To bed junk!
You pray much too often for me.
Now was what will come again rather than what wills.


Forever fashionable to be in a state
Of interesting death consumption,
Believing that my arms contain
Hollow grays strangely sung.
And as I move along a life,
You buy my trek
Pieces of matter siding with pounds.
Twin swans above the dimes.
The abyss overlooked upon them bound.


Sorry handsome, I'm new to speed
And the daily routines experienced without cover.
A purity really,
So of the flesh.
Run-on semblances I like immensely.
The distance is here if we should.

Surfaced ripples of width
Intend another day.
Bones thrown where they belong
Disintegrate all the same.
I follow your skin
Feeling us for home.
You refuse me.
You refuse me nothing.
Our soul is the clay
Mending a vision after it funds
The chatter of other worlds and maps of horror
Our debt shall bring.
In time an eyeless mammal
Greases the frantic pavement
With our scorn
Clothed a treason because it whines.
O wrathful moon of solid bat,
My master licks the tickle of his stormy complication.
O solid bat moon of warped sunset,
My master won't live through centuries lubricated.
I am followed everywhere I wane,
Breathless in rebirth
And broken to save
Violets for your tan.


I know everything about nothing and more nothings.
A contradiction of convention of modern life.
There's the void in my head, donut snot.
I smoke a bowl and present my girlfriend with a boner.
She's sleeping.
I don't blame her.
I'm sleepy.
What would the voters say?
Related to supervising upcoming documentary programming.

War is fine.
Love is blindness.
A war on war.
The moon in a dewdrop.
Drugs and books are eating me out of house and home.
I don't blame them.
I've been sleeping.
The human cost of crash?
A note says PS fuck a dog, go fuck a dog fucker.

I take the car to the butcher.
They take the limousine to the wedding.
An inextricable bond between the object and its context.
Well, everyone, as these are irrational times,
Let's hook our fish in a whole new way.
Blame some, they're sleeping.
All I'm saying 
Is she smokes a bowl and presents me with a boner.
My disillusionment lost to nub aspiration.


Your evil eye swells a tulip.
My dream on Thursday it was mammal.
We make waste and our time
Once against building escape.
Vocal and vast, a frost in the scene
Of anonymous ween.


I create an image whose reality is self-evident.
On the fat of the land,
A rope and people deliberately uncommunicative.
Their metamorphosis is navy blue, sublime, so beautiful.
Sky, star, and excrement like.
I'm remembering someone else at our table.
What's self-evident arrives, conceived from that void.
The color of favorite animals
In a room without windows or doors.
The inner recession of peaceful tendencies
Deliberately uncommunicative.
A master switch. The massive reversal.
It's simply going to go out.
What is, is being and non-being suspending contortions.
With conditioning so beautiful,
I only want to touch you and not hear
The mountain, the city, our ordinary heat.

The true universe extinguished by a blaze derailed, a system failed. Beans beam our peg-leg queen spoofed if the badguise steals her, and that's why you're free. Short orders of a liberty I Also frequent amid the flighty generations. All soldiers are scum. I exude no tears for them blown to bits! An eternal vacation on Al-Qaeda where their dandruff in the chocolate turbans is quietly cozy in calfskin girdles exfoliating a family or hookers from us altogether. The danger So puzzling. I walk through walls. This isn't happening. Immigrants behind the anatomy of used fitness equipment prove some trite sequence satisfied with a cocaine minimug lather liposuctive Rachel Bilson intervention. The danger is muzzling. The kitchen sink sure barfs trash. I'm not here. The kitchen sink man it never disappears. O that's not me. I wake up every
Morning and await my gruesome, painful death. I'm there to buy drugs. Hopefully my balls still produce semen. Say, the nurse is plunging out of my dread a protean invoice shaking. No Wait, it's a pretty poet aggressively writing in her journal in the Rose Reading Room. So crayon, so parked, so deliberate. Sugar, let's be honest and imagine fucking symphonically Deep on top of multiple volumes of the Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy. Wait, she's not that spot. What was I sprinkling? Korean adolescence? Blacksburg mullet gnomes? This isn't happening. The big fish eat the middle ones. I think I'll search SpookyLinks. It renders me optimistic. It marches me in struts, dreaming of the last sofa at the sofa store. As You know, I may actually get my own talk show someday. And lingering around now more than ever, my uniformity says the other ways to say pit.
The stark molds. Pyramids puzzle.
Revolts flow. Lumps tax.
Chows chomp. Clots jacket.
Warnings flake. Scrolls oppose.
Swarms inject an owner of sky.
My profit and loss. I hold it up.
It lift us up.
No more hot food blues. No more astroturf.
I ride the subway homely.
I look at their mid-drifts only.
Sally is gone. O Sally.
No more fresh fish blues. No more salt water.
The boxes wish me a happy holiday.
None of them are real.
I'm cut-off the glacial

I piss in the corner but not in her bush.
I like my tuna with peanut butter.
I almost bought the farm in Bamberg, South Carolina,
But passed out drunk just in time.
Where is my birth?
Where is my death?
Where are the gremlins who raise my toys?
It's pills to bed, it's pills to wakey,
And all I really do is squeeze tomatoes.
Like a receipt from Buddhist whores,
My worth is the supernova jerking-off lambs.
I like my tuna in her bush.
I buy the farm by passing out drunk.
Like Ikkyu bewilders a shopping spree,
Mt. Tremper, New York is where whores rob the Buddha of his worth.
Fleas piss on their dogs standing in slime.
They read, they jump, they smell of droves
Smelling better prices on babies who dunk
Pork dumplings latching chemical suits.
I smell the earthlings my paranoia thwarts.
I can't read, I can't jump over this self-taught self-pity.
My birth is my death as my death is my birth.
I buy green tea ice cream and ponder a woman's ass.
I'm wiggling for her to taste my cum in her bush.
Exploiting our collective memory,
The distant billboards spill more clams than the demise of dinosaur polish.
Today is a holiday upheaving inventive underwear.
A genial Sunday
Just lying in lettuce,
Hoping someday soon I'll lie for polling.
The phones are always answered with a positive and natural tone.


Jolted abruptly from a stationary lifestyle,
He retreats, embarrassed by the spacious
Cacophony of material pleasures
And ostrich anatomy
Planning my mental breakdown.

Women hold tight as he looses his spine.
Flesh grips crowns exposing penetrations.
Organically I eat collective shapes.
They do love my flesh
And living in one is alright.

A sea-wasp floating the Indian Ocean
Could latch itself to my face someday.
Until then he revolves, assured of its anthropophobia.
Last rites weeping at a diner near Akron.
Hurray the remainder of tomorrow's rubberized prime!

He's so cloudy my love, but feeling nice feeling wanted.
And I do plan to quench your pacified pussy.
A catatonic wave gives us the grating fluorescence.
Bogey shots on our laps fall fast asleep
Without hunger for anyone.


Mummified shortages
Praise ordinary liquid

Traffic collapses
A flash of stability others hack

Crouching fences
Erected on the verge of sparse dwellings

Tear my pubic hairs
An imitation pole
Impregnated by its ulterior self

Meandering and chanting just to stomp through
This muck of disfigured marvel

Chewing bits and pieces
To thrill his hours
Of excess turning ghostly


The world beyond oneself is of no true concern. It will be as it has always been, and you
Will be as you have always been. Freedom lies in nothing to accomplish.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009



Everything crabs, spending loosely and
Looming largely from bygone incidents at European airports
Flowing into prostitutes saying North Korea
Is a Netflix night of botched bonuses.
And out in their sportscars, dishing for their buffoon suds,
Sexy office coroners, decompressed
Like the renovated cats lapping,
Are arguing all floors, all stores, all original prices
For no good reason.
If Hamas rockets were aimed at your children,
You'd sure save on great gaming.
Atheists add
Those so called "crush videos" are sexually explicit fetish films, usually
Home spun, depicting women dressed up in dominatrix uniforms taking
Pleasure in crushing small animals to pulp.
And I fail to understand the value of avoiding a nuclear war.
Our fall
Is in danger of boozing its credibility.
The B-52 bombers fly nuclear weapons across the continental United States,
Accidently warning of a new wave of nuclear proliferation
If rogue nations are prompted to start their own arms programs
Because of flailing confidence in the governmental structure
Of the United States.
More than 30 countries worldwide are protected by the ability of the
American arsenal to deter and dissuade an attack
If necessary.
And my death was first reported in an increasingly aggressive
Militant campaign reflecting the secrecy of a border stirring anger
Over the policies of a mountainous region.
The missile struck my tribal area, killed last September's deadly
Suicide bombing at a Marriot counterterrorism official.
This past week concludes
Fiery missiles fired from a remotely
Piloted predator who uses the name "Osama Ghoul"
As well as Lieutenant "Terrestrial Figment."
His death confirms there is every reason to believe
That my individual has met the end.
Certainly, it has rising and lethal effects on the cause,
But also clearly acknowledges a surprising resiliency
And a knack for regrouping quickly under new operational commanders.
And for no good reason,
The city without me is an enigma, an unusually capable
Forest for sleeping.
The air is always on death arrival.
Some friends are meeting me at the station, periodicals scout
Locations for hamburger.
During the trance belonging to her vulva, liquids ranch
Huge cocks, the friends remind me of hamburger.
My mind dries up, it shrinks
Like all there is I once felt worth in stating, like all the beliefs
Of a writer sharing his bed.
I spent my life lying to myself.
The cripples beat cancer stricken children with hospital beds.
It's as meaningless as counterculture.
Islam goes green.
She was once my receptionist.
Then the obliteration of a pussy so dear.
Included amongst the ruins
Smokes the cocaine I queef.
Displaced, courageous, and undetected.

Monday, January 12, 2009

3 Recent Publications



"STRAW WATERFALL" at Black-Listed Magazine

Sunday, January 4, 2009

I Too Am High

You're your
You years
Yeah I write
And would work
The words with
The will and who
Of which is where
And when then what
We're well
We are ways
Of water that was
I want to very
Use the us
I'm up and um
Uh-huh, uh
I too am time
Those and this
Think of things
They're these
There, the them 
That take
Such a state,
Something  so
She sees
I say what's right
I'm really the president,
I'm a percent of people
Parts over
An outer our,
An other or
Only one
On okay?
Oh numbers!
Now is not
No news
And new is my
Much of most
And most is more
Than a million mhms
I mean it's me,
I may the many
I make the made
A lot to look
I'm long and like
The last to know
You're kind and just
Into if
I'd had the had
Guessed good
You're going to go,
You give from
First finds
Even down
You don't do
The day as we could
The can calls
Bye like before
I've been here because
You'll be back
At any
Ah after.

3 Poems


Enjoying the glory then still,
I imagine your skin sleeping alone.
I admit you are only blood once you stop breathing.
I will never remove the death within you.
The form you die as is me sleeping alone.

Soft rocks mate and hiss.
My prayers for isolation open your knees.
My God is the disease I reach.
Ice appears while a black tree
Streams this final thirst dream.

I kneel at your altar.
I won't go where I'm saying.
Sorry, so sorry
I've failed someday we fill.
I'll never stand again.

From the paper towel,
A cemetery of morsels rehearsed.
I pull out and deliver
The butter where you cusp
Robots to study holes in.

Recycled catastrophes retaining our mouths open.
A layer throwing itself off of a bridge.
Venus copes through existence and not.
We are taught to jump after balls
Coping through existence and rot.

I fail but your machine will live on.
I live on your machine to stay on.
On you I fill the machine I live on.
I live on and your machine is of me.
Your machine will live on as long as it imagines where to stop.


In a rare act
They were like angels of death.
They were so sure of something
They didn't even look back.
Israel and America, what is there to say?
As temperatures dip, cashmeres drop.
And no early end is seen
To those coveted items we've been holding
For right moments for just the right out on.
A Western couple clad in half-eaten meals.
Longer intervals between reloading and arbitrary walking.
If we were the sale before, chances are
We are still the sale before the one
We wake up early for.
This is the sale that makes us go
We've acted that sale before.
The items coveted start snuffing us 
And waking up to see no early end.
The emptiness like a rare angel
Clad in half-eaten death.


Operators of the paranormal Christ
Place their black balls on our xerox machine.
My copy bleeds unemployed grape juice.
The contamination is no longer a hazard strictly for the middle-class.
I have made certain my breakdown is properly placed.
I bitterly bless reasons that fear the public
In fear of war and invasive acts of foreign hostilities.
Forget whether war be declared or not, the proportions of the military
Amount to an uprising of usurped enemies or any act of spent rectums
Indirectly terrorizing this clause where much fisting occurs.
My chemicals separate and agree that consciousness
Is a molten object combining pre-motion and motion pre-sickness
Cucumbering your salad bowl.
I never thought I'd carry clients or coin slots.
I never thought I'd care about what my hive lacks.
My heart is the next metadata
Commenting on a copy of quests to suck from.
If I want a counter-proposal,
Just stab this lollipop coated 
Yes prince,
And God will belt my skin-bag penetrating a pitiless tempest
Begging for the aloe
Arriving from an air-borne frost of turpentine.
The gospel and our image,
So punk like a payable.
Migrations of impairment
Calculate something about the water tasting burnt.
If your facility is available,
I'll alcoholic myself uncensored.
The worst is simulated.
The cosmos comes back to its picnic.
Chest reductions determine our truth.
My balls are your earrings.
Is this what examines existence?
Explosive lightning clear cut in loaves by tinfoil windstorms of hail and
Tornadoes and cyclones and hurricanes and earthquakes driven nuts by
Electrical injuries or mechanical shakedowns terminating their
Accounts in probable lump sums of extinction installments
And a tire's subjective qualities.
The worst deters our picnic.
Chest reductions alcoholic my balls uncensored.
Those earrings are as punk as the cosmos.